“Well, I’ve sat under that tree all my life,” she said.
“Same goes in the city, I figure,” Mark said. “And if you’re new, you get a map—lots of street maps of Nashville available. Or you can do like Uncle Bart and cheat with that thing he calls a GPS. Funniest thing you ever saw. It’s this little box with a screen that shows you moving along the roads as you go. Then there’s this cranky soundin’ woman’s voice that tells you when you make a wrong turn. Uncle Bart named her ‘Prudence’ after this one teacher we all had in elementary school. She was a cranky old bat, too.”
Addy laughed, but she realized quickly that Mark was aware of how tense she had gotten and was trying to help her relax. It almost worked until they pulled into a small parking lot behind an old, three-story house.
“This is Mel’s place. She lives in the apartment on the top floor. Uncle Bart’s tryin’ to wrangle a deal to buy the whole building, so the rest of us can live in the other two apartments. It’s not that we have to live in each other’s pockets, but we’re still feelin’ our way in the city, so we’d like to stick together. Matt’ll be movin’ in with Mel, after they’re married, of course, but we figure we’ll save a lot of money with the rest of us sharin’ space we own, too.”
Addy wasn’t paying Mark much attention as she got out of the SUV and stared up at the grand old house. Even her inexperienced eye could tell it was a very old building that had had extensive, quality renovations done. It was a lifetime removed from her cabin in the woods in more than distance.
“Everythin’s gonna be fine, Addy,” Mark said, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a reassuring squeeze. “They’re gonna love you. I promise.”
Addy took a deep, fortifying breath and turned to the back of the SUV to get her guitar. If she was going to meet her future upstairs in that apartment, she wanted the one weapon she had at her side.
16
The music rang through the recording studio, sending Addy to a place she had never been before. The four male voices—all baritone or bass—should have been overpowering, but the four brothers were so in tune with one another, so focused on the music, they held her in a kind of spell she’d never even imagined before.
“I told you they were good,” Mel whispered, nudging Addy with her shoulder. “I’ve got dibs on the guitar guy, but they’re all pretty, aren’t they?”
Addy could only nod. They were that: pretty and special. Mark had been right, of course. His family had welcomed her with open arms, and Mel, especially, had taken Addy’s part, instantly bonding with the other woman against the mass of Saint men, who could be a little overwhelming when they were in one room together. Following a quick lunch, they had piled into a van and the SUV to head over to a studio they had reserved that afternoon for some music rehearsal. As the brothers warmed up, Addy felt the sudden urge to join them.
“Sounds good, boys,” Uncle Bart said through the intercom from where he sat with a sound man on the other side of the glass. “And you were right about that bridge, John.”
“You know I hate to admit it,” Matt said, “but he really was.”
“The mandolin made all the difference, there,” Mark agreed.
“Don’t let it go to your head, kid,” Luke said, laying down a quick pattern on his drums.
“Like I’d ever have the chance to,” John, the youngest, said with a grin.
Everyone laughed, including Uncle Bart in the booth, but finally the older man called a halt to the fun.
“All right, all right. The clock’s runnin’, so let’s move on. Why don’t you try Addy’s new song and bring the pretty lady in to show you how it was meant to be sung?”
“That’s you,” Mel said with a grin.
Addy wiped her suddenly damp palms on her jeans and opened her guitar case. As she pulled it out, Matt let out a low whistle.
“Is that what I think it is?” he said, leaning closer for a better look.
“I guess that depends on what you think it is,” Addy said. “My great-granddaddy got it in trade back in the ‘30s. I know it’s not much to look at, but it still sounds pretty good.”
The guitar had an ebony finish on a mahogany back and sides and a red spruce top, with ivoroid binding. A rosewood fingerboard was accented with mother-of-pearl tuners. Under the studio’s bright lights, she could see clearly every scratch and scuff mark, but the familiar trademark Gibson headstock logo made everyone anxious to hear how it sounded.
“Like I got anythin’ to brag about in the looks department,” Matt said with a grin, holding up his scratched and scuffed Martin guitar. “Looks don’t mean a thing in a music studio.”
Addy glanced around and realized the same could be said about any of their instruments, and she felt marginally better. Marginally only, however, since they hadn’t yet heard her either play or sing.